


a game of you

by wordstruck



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Friendly Bets, Lingerie, M/M, Teasing, lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 02:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11347578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/wordstruck
Summary: “Hmmm.” JJ lets things stew for a few moments as he takes a long swig, tipping his head back, feeling the way Seung-gil’s eyes are drawn to his throat. He smacks his lips, licks the excess moisture off, and grins. “How about, the person with the lower score has to do whatever the winner wants for a day?”Seung-gil quirks his eyebrows. “That seems obviously childish.”“It’ll be fun.”Seung-gil looks a little to the left, then directly at JJ. His lips are pursed in that determined pout that JJ loves to kiss off.“You’re on.”





	a game of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zvyozdochka (OfCloudlessClimes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfCloudlessClimes/gifts).



> Written as both a request from Shino and as a prompt fill for the winner of my Twitter fic giveaway, where the requested theme was Seung-gil in lingerie (specifically [this set](https://lovechildboudoir.com/products/death-in-june-asymmetric-cage-briefs)). I played around with the prompt a little to add a bit more fun.
> 
> Unbeta'd so far so if limbs end up in weird places or things are wrong, feel free to tell me and I'll correct it! // Come find me on Twitter as [@okw_tr](https://twitter.com/okw_tr) and on Tumblr as [@yurochkas](https://yurochkas.tumblr.com) for more YOI/HQ content!

* * *

 

The opportunity comes unexpectedly, but it’s welcome.

It’s not that JJ doesn’t adore Seung-gil, because he does. He admires Seung-gil’s tenacity, his talent, his ruthless determination to remain himself and not change a thing in the face of the pressures of figure skating and publicity. It reminds JJ a lot of himself.

(There are many other things he likes about Seung-gil: the small smile Seung-gil gets around his dog; the careful and meticulous way those hands work in the kitchen; the unflappable way he continues to allow his mother to dress him; the way he watches JJ skate, silent, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, but always believing JJ will put the best performance out on the ice. JJ doesn’t say these things out loud, thinks them quietly to himself in the mornings he gets to wake up beside Seung-gil in his hotel room, the rare times they get to spend the night together.)

It’s not that JJ doesn’t adore Seung-gil, because he does, but damn if he doesn’t sometimes get the urge to see if that unshakable composure of his won’t break. Because no matter what romantic or naughty gesture JJ makes, the most he’s gotten out of Seung-gil is the boy ducking his head, cheeks faintly pink, or Seung-gil failing to reply for several minutes because of a message JJ’s sent. And even in bed, Seung-gil hasn’t quite let himself go, preferring to bury his face and his sounds in the sheets or JJ’s shoulder, shuddering quietly in JJ’s arms as he comes.

JJ adores everything about Seung-gil, but he does want _everything,_ and that includes seeing what Seung-gil might look like if he were flustered, embarrassed; what he’d look like coming apart under JJ’s hands, mouth, touch.

It starts with a bet.

They’re both terribly competitive (something that’s led to not a few fights between them, spats when they criticize each other’s routines or outscore each other badly), so it’s easy enough to cajole Seung-gil into a not-completely-friendly wager over their scores in their first Grand Prix series event -- they’re both assigned to Skate Canada this season, which means Seung-gil is staying a few days at JJ’s Montreal apartment, having flown in early to practice before they both head to Toronto. They’re in the open living-kitchen-dining room, with JJ getting some juice from the fridge and Seung-gil curled up on the couch.

“You know,” JJ says casually, twisting open the bottle, “we should add something to this.”

Seung-gil flicks his gaze up from his phone, quirks his eyebrows. “Add something to what?”

“The competition.” JJ waggles his eyebrows, undeterred even when Seung-gil frowns. “Something more than just seeing who’s gonna beat who.”

Seung-gil’s eyes narrow, but JJ can see the curiosity there. His boyfriend shifts on the couch, leans his cheek on the back of it. “Something like what?”

“Hmmm.” JJ lets things stew for a few moments as he takes a long swig, tipping his head back, feeling the way Seung-gil’s eyes are drawn to his throat. He smacks his lips, licks the excess moisture off, and grins. “How about, the person with the lower score has to do whatever the winner wants for a day?”

Seung-gil quirks his eyebrows. “That seems obviously childish.”

“It’ll be fun.” JJ sets the juice bottle down on the kitchen counter, strides over to Seung-gil and braces his hands on either side of his boyfriend’s head. He can see the heat flash in Seung-gil’s gaze, in his quiet but harsh exhale. JJ leans down and winks. “I’m sure you’ve got things you want to make me do,” he says, lowering his voice. When Seung-gil inhales sharply, JJ knows he’s hooked.

(And there are things he wants Seung-gil to do, and wants to do _to_ Seung-gil, but he doesn’t say those yet. Those can wait for after he wins, and all their days together after.)

Seung-gil looks a little to the left, then directly at JJ. His lips are pursed in that determined pout that JJ loves to kiss off.

“You’re on.”

 

Skate Canada goes well -- for Seung-gil, that is. For all that JJ’s program goes well, and he even lands the quad loop cleanly, Seung-gil beats him in PCS and it’s enough to edge JJ to gold by three and a half points. On the podium Seung-gil’s smile is cool, practiced, but standing beside him, JJ can see the smirk in his eyes and the corners of his lips.

This isn’t _quite_ how he envisioned this turning out, but when Seung-gil flicks his gaze to JJ, briefly but with intent, JJ has to admit he’s curious and a little excited.

They part ways to do their press runs, and JJ grins at the reporters, says he’s unfazed by placing silver at home, that he’ll make up for it at the Trophée de France and qualify easily. This is going to be his year (no matter that he’d lost to Yuri Plisetsky at Worlds).

The next time he sees Seung-gil is back at the hotel, after a celebratory dinner with his family. He drops by Seung-gil’s room to find his boyfriend has already changed, and is watching a crime film on the telly with the volume turned low.

“So,” JJ says, sliding into bed beside Seung-gil despite still being fully dressed. Seung-gil makes a noise of complaint, but shifts to make space for JJ beside him. It makes JJ smile.

“So?” Seung-gil asks, tearing his gaze from the screen to raise his eyebrows at JJ.

“You won.” JJ takes Seung-gil’s hand, kisses slender knuckles, smiles. Seung-gil flicks his eyes away; there’s a little color on his cheeks. JJ has to hold back a laugh. “What do you want?”

He’s not sure what to expect, if he’s honest; whether it might be something sexual or something sweet, JJ isn’t sure. One of the best things JJ likes about Seung-gil is that people might think he’s predictable and impassive, and then he’ll go and surprise you.

So it _is_ a surprise when Seung-gil withdraws his hand, the corners of his lips curling up in a smirk. When he says, cryptically, “you’ll see”, and goes back to watching his movie.

JJ raises his eyebrows, interest piqued. “Oh?”

It’s even more surprising when Seung-gil suddenly leans across and kisses him at the corner of his mouth, draws away with a small smile. JJ sits there, a little stunned, as Seung-gil shifts ever so slightly away.

“One thing, though,” Seung-gil says, and there’s a teasing edge to his tone that draws JJ in, makes the anticipation curl in his gut. Seung-gil traces one finger up the back of JJ’s hand, draws little circles; looks at JJ out of the corner of his eyes. “Tomorrow, when we go back.”

JJ hums in agreement.

“You’re not allowed to touch me.”

 

At first, it’s easy enough. They fly back to Montreal; Seung-gil naps on the plane, and if he leans on the window instead of on JJ, well, it’s not difficult to endure. They take a cab back, Seung-gil quiet and JJ curious. They head up to the apartment, they put away their things, they settle in: JJ on the couch in the living room, watching something on his tablet, and Seung-gil off to shower.

The lack of casual touches is discomfiting, but not intolerable.

After two hours, JJ notices.

Little by little, Seung-gil has started to wear progressively less clothing.

The socks are the first to go, barely noticeable. But JJ knows Seung-gil likes to wander around in sock feet, so the absence of dog-printed fabric catches the fringes of his attention. Then the jacket disappears, leaving Seung-gil in JJ’s shirt and his jeans.

Seung-gil goes around like normal, settling in the armchair diagonally across from the couch and propping open a book. He has his glasses on, thin and frameless, has a tiny furrow in his brow. JJ eyes him over the edge of his tablet, curious.

Forty-five minutes later, Seung-gil gets up, and returns in just a shirt and boxers.

This time JJ is _really_ looking: at pale legs on full display, hooked over the arm of the chair; at the sharp contrast of black fabric on skin; at the plush of Seung-gil’s thighs. He wants to reach out, smooth his palm up one leg and see how far Seung-gil will let him touch, but he’s promised.

(And that cool composure remains intact, as if Seung-gil doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to JJ, pointing and flexing one foot as JJ stares and feels the urge to sink his teeth in--)

“What are we doing for dinner tonight?” Seung-gil suddenly asks, startling JJ from his building fantasy. JJ coughs, feels his cheeks heat up, but Seung-gil just looks at him impassively and raises his eyebrows.

“We can, uh--” JJ clears his throat and tries again. “We can order in? Did you want to go out?”

“Hmm.” Seung-gil taps a finger to his (plush, pink) lips and tips his head back to bare his (slender, begging-to-be-marked) throat. “We can go to the Japanese place down the block.”

(JJ is staring, breathing shallow, lips slightly parted. Seung-gil looks back at him, serene as you please.)

 _“Jean.”_ JJ blinks and jerks his attention back to the tablet in his lap, trying to remember where he’d left off. He swears he can hear the smirk in Seung-gil’s voice, even if there’s no trace on his mouth.

“Sure,” JJ says, and he’s proud of how his voice doesn’t shake.

Seung-gil nods and goes back to his book.

(JJ flicks his eyes up again, only half-paying attention to the movie as Seung-gil stretches out one leg and furrows his brow.)

 

At six, they get ready to go out. JJ stands to put the tablet away while Seung-gil disappears into the bedroom to change. After getting momentarily distracted by a few Twitter notifications, JJ follows. He’s about to ask Seung-gil if he wants to get coffee afterwards as well when he looks up and--

His throat runs dry; his breath catches in his throat; what feels like half the blood in his body goes very quickly south.

Seung-gil is standing in front of the closet, his suitcase open a few feet away, hands on his sides with his hips cocked as he contemplates his outfit. And that’s fine, that’s normal, except he’s wearing only a soft grey shirt -- _JJ’s shirt_ \-- and nothing underneath but --

JJ’s eyes trail up those legs to the twin strips of red digging into one pale thigh, the fuchsia flower embellishments, and further to where more red straps are just peeking out from the hem of the shirt, on top of tiny black boyshorts. The collar of the shirt drags off one shoulder, revealing even more straps and floral decorations that evidently cross over Seung-gil’s chest and back. The fabric drapes loosely over his back, giving only hints of the rest of the setup underneath, but it’s enough to stun JJ into silence and breathlessness.

And Seung-gil -- Seung-gil just turns, blinks twice, and bends down to retrieve a pair of jeans from his luggage. The shirt rides up, lets JJ see the full expanse of lingerie criss-crossing over Seung-gil’s hips, and JJ wants to reach out and _take_ \--

Seung-gil tugs the jeans up over his hips, covering up, and somehow that makes everything hotter. He grabs a dress shirt from the closet and turns, makes his way over to JJ. But just when JJ thinks Seung-gil’s going to do something that ends up in them not going out tonight, the man steps around JJ, as close as they can get without touching.

(And JJ can smell his shampoo in Seung-gil’s hair, his body spray lingering on Seung-gil’s skin and this is not _fair,_ he wants to reach out and slide his fingers under those garters, snap them back into place so Seung-gil’s skin turns pink and pretty.)

Seung-gil disappears into the bathroom without even looking at him, but JJ can track the smirk that pulls up the corners of that mouth.

He half-regrets making that bet now, if it meant being teased like this.

 

This is _infuriating._

There’s not a hint of what’s underneath the charcoal grey dress shirt and dark wash denim jeans, and Seung-gil doesn’t give anything away, but JJ _knows._ He can still see what those red straps and flowers looked against Seung-gil’s skin, digging into taut flesh. And Seung-gil maintains a frustrating distance, always accidentally brushing against JJ and then pulling away, sliding his gaze down JJ’s body and then flicking it somewhere else. JJ can’t focus as he watches Seung-gil lick curry off his finger, excruciatingly slow, hollowing those cheeks.

It’s maddening, and it’s making JJ’s pants feel uncomfortably tight.

(Needless to say, they don’t go for coffee after.)

When they get back home, when JJ’s closed the door behind him and Seung-gil takes off his shoes, bending over slightly, JJ snaps. He reaches out, grabs Seung-gil’s hips and hauls him back to press his face into the side of the man’s neck.

Seung-gil slaps his hands away, whirls around and steps back. His expression is haughty, a provocation; he clicks his tongue.

“I said,” and his voice is low, taunting, “no touching.”

JJ sucks in a breath, forces his hands to his sides. Seung-gil smirks.

“Better.” He raises a hand, beckons JJ over. “Bedroom. Now.”

JJ complies in an instant.

He’s not sure how Seung-gil wants him, and his boyfriend seems to be taking his time outside, so JJ settles for taking off his shirt and lying back against the pillows. When Seung-gil enters and spots him, there’s a flicker of amusement on his face as he stops to admire the view.

“Someone’s excited,” he comments dryly, and JJ grins.

“Always for you,” he replies cheekily, and is rewarded with a soft snort of laughter.

“I like it,” Seung-gil says, and JJ smirks. Slowly, deliberately, Seung-gil comes forward, letting his gaze drag from JJ’s ankles upwards, lingering on the crotch area, the trail of dark hair, the bare chest. At the foot of the bed, Seung-gil pauses, tips his head to the side, smiles: the slightest crinkle of his eyes, uptick of his lips, a tease.

JJ breathes, heavy, and watches.

Seung-gil starts it simple: he drags his hands slow over his front, teasing over the fly of his jeans. He undoes the button tantalizingly slowly; the _schick_ of the zipper is the only sound in the room apart from JJ’s breathing. Thumbs dip under the waistband and push down, inch by excruciating inch, until Seung-gil kicks them off and out of the way. Until the red straps and flowers are revealed, delicious against pale skin.

Then Seung-gil smirks, climbs onto the bed. He holds JJ’s gaze as he crawls forward, moving until he’s straddling JJ’s lap. JJ immediately reaches for slender hips, but Seung-gil slaps them away, grabbing JJ’s wrists and pinning them to the wall above his head.

“No,” he exhales, purrs, almost. JJ feels a shiver run down his body; throat dry, he nods.

Seung-gil answers with a satisfied smile, letting go of JJ and pulling back. He licks his lips, flutters his lashes. Brings one hand up to toy with the top buttons of his shirt, the other trailing lightly down JJ’s chest. Before his fingers dip below JJ’s navel, though, he withdraws. Pops one button, then two.

JJ’s eyes are fixed on those slender fingers, on the way the shirt collar slowly starts to fall open, revealing hints of red underneath.

Then Seung-gil starts to move his hips.

Small motions: back and forth, careful circles, rocking down against JJ. The front of his jeans starts to grow tight. Button after button gets flicked open, revealing a criss-cross of red straps, an elaborate bloom of flowers on Seung-gil’s skin, and JJ half-forgets to breathe.

(He wants to touch, wants, so badly; he wants to lick and bite between the straps, toy at the edges to make Seung-gil shiver. He wants he wants he _wants._ He keeps his hands overhead.)

The shirt falls open; JJ stares. His breathing comes harsh, sharp. Seung-gil traces the flowers, the straps; moves his hand down and cups himself through black boxers. A soft moan falls from his lips; he tips his head back, mouth falling open in a sigh as his hand starts to move, kneading the palm against his cock.

(JJ’s hands flex, close into fists. He wants.)

The boy in his lap starts to move in earnest, rocking his hips into his palm. Seung-gil bites his lips, lets out little hitching moans; every motion brushes against JJ’s own cock through his jeans and this is hot as hell, this is the dirtiest and most tempting JJ has seen Seung-gil. And Seung-gil meets JJ’s eyes, presses two fingers into his mouth and sucks, licks, until they’re spit-slick and dripping. Then he reaches behind himself, fumbles, makes a strangled noise -- and then --

JJ groans, thunking his head back and panting openly as he watches Seung-gil rock back on his own fingers, stroke himself through his boxers, around the straps; as Seung-gil’s moans turn breathy, stuttered; as Seung-gil makes a show and a mess of himself and JJ’s nails dig into his palms with the effort not to reach, to push Seung-gil back and down and _take._

And then Seung-gil shifts, _keens._

“Jean,” he pants out, hips writhing; he pushes down against JJ’s cock and JJ almost loses it. “God -- _Jean,_ fuck, _fuck--”_

“Fuck,” JJ echoes hoarsely; he doesn’t know where to look. There’s a pretty flush to Seung-gil’s skin under the straps; his teeth dig into plush lips; his hands are working at his cock, his ass; his hips stutter. It’s fucking hot, it’s too much, JJ _needs_ to get his hands on this boy _right fucking now_ \--

 _“Need you,”_ Seung-gil moans, and that’s all the invitation JJ needs to surge forward, hauling Seung-gil in for a messy kiss as his hands bracket slender hips, grab two handfuls of a pert ass.

“So hot -- fucking -- tease--” JJ gets out in between kisses and mouthing at all the skin he can reach; one hand fumbles around the bed for the small bottle of lube. He finds it, slicks up his fingers, drags his tongue at the edges of those red straps and presses two fingers into Seung-gil’s ass, making the boy muffle a sharp cry in the press of their lips.

It’s difficult to maneuver around the straps, but JJ twists his wrist and crooks his fingers, making Seung-gil squirm in the press of his arms. His other hand threads through Seung-gil’s hair, tugging, pulling the boy into another heated and sloppy kiss. And Seung-gil fucks back on JJ’s fingers, rolls his hips so their cocks press through layers of clothing, and whatever sense of reason JJ’s managed to retain is starting to slip away.

“More,” Seung-gil pants against his jaw, hands moving down to scrabble at the front of JJ’s pants, “more, fuck, _Jean_ \-- _"_

JJ growls, bites and sucks a mark onto Seung-gil’s shoulder, then with great reluctance, withdraws his hands and lifts Seung-gil off his lap. He works quickly, shucking pants and boxers. When he looks back up, it’s to the sight of Seung-gil sprawled out on his sheets, skin flushed so prettily, chest heaving.

JJ’s back on him in seconds, kissing and nipping his way up one leg until he gets to the garter straps there. With a little difficulty, he gets teeth to them and pulls, uses one hand to help tug them off. Then he gets off the piece on Seung-gil’s hips, pressing an open mouth to the bulge in the boyshorts as his hands pull the straps off.

“So fucking hot,” he murmurs; his hands slip under Seung-gil’s thighs and pull them further open as he sucks, licks, until the fabric is wet and Seung-gil is writhing, pleading. And if JJ had wanted to see that composure broken then here it is: the color is high in Seung-gil’s cheeks, his hair is matted to his forehead, and he’s desperately rocking his hips up against JJ’s mouth as his hands grab at the bedsheets. And JJ drinks in every beautiful reaction, every squirm and shiver, as he takes this beautiful boy to pieces.

“So good,” he breathes out, moving up to kiss Seung-gil hard, and Seung-gil responds stunningly, arching up into JJ and dragging nails over his shoulders, down his back. When Seung-gil gets a hand to JJ’s cock, just as JJ’s fumbling for a condom, he has to muffle a moan in one slender shoulder.

When Seung-gil hooks his legs around JJ’s hips, when JJ pushes into tight heat -- they both have to bite back cries. JJ fucks into him hard, fast; after the teasing, the not being allowed to touch, he _needs_ and he doesn’t want to hold back. And Seung-gil rolls his hips into every thrust, clings to JJ and lets out filthy, delicious noises, a litany of JJ’s name and demands for more, more, _more._

“So good, fuck -- _chaton,_ so good, yes--” JJ bites out, mouths against Seung-gil’s throat. And Seung-gil throws his head back, scrabbles at the sheets, and cries out as he comes, shuddering underneath him. JJ buries his face in Seung-gil’s shoulder and feels Seung-gil shake under him, around him, follows with a strangled moan of Seung-gil’s name.

They lie there, panting, catching their breaths; JJ has himself braced on his elbows to keep from weighing down, while Seung-gil absently pets at his hair and presses kisses to his cheeks, his temples. When he feels less like his limbs might give out, JJ pulls out and strips off the condom, tosses it in the general direction of the wastebasket near the bed. Before Seung-gil can chide him, he rolls onto his side and pulls the boy along with him into a tangle of limbs and warm skin.

“You,” JJ says, snapping his teeth at Seung-gil and huffing a laugh, “are the worst fucking tease.”

He looks at Seung-gil, the red straps and pink flowers still adorning his chest, the mess of his hair, the marks littering his skin; looks at the beautiful boy in his arms and kisses him, just because he can. And Seung-gil answers in a quiet laugh like sunshine, a sound only JJ gets to hear.

“You liked it,” he points out, blushing prettily despite his smirk.

JJ laughs, louder; pulls Seung-gil closer.

“Yeah,” he admits without reluctance, and kisses Seung-gil again. “I do.”


End file.
